Fatal as a Fallen Woman Read Online Free

for Horatio Foxe. And if her father's killer turned out to be anyone other than her own mother, she would file that story. In fact, it would be the best piece of reporting she'd ever done. She owed Foxe that much.
    "Here you go, miss," the conductor said, indicating a private compartment.
    "This can't be right."
    But it was. Foxe had booked first class passage for her all the way to Denver. Although notoriously tight with money, he had spent a hundred and twenty dollars when he could have gotten her a standard-fare ticket for only eighty-five.
    She sniffled audibly as she stowed her possessions and took her seat. She would need all her wits about her when she reached her destination, and she might not get much rest en route, even with one of Mr. Pullman's beds to sleep in each night, but Horatio Foxe's generous gesture would make a difference. Instead of arriving in a state of total exhaustion, she might just get to Colorado with a modicum of her ability to function still intact.
    Diana fought against weeping, but it was no use. Now that she was alone, the emotions she'd been holding at bay forced their way to the surface. As the train pulled out of the station she succumbed to tears, indulging in a good long cry. Memories of her childhood came thick and fast as she sobbed. So did worries and doubts.
    When the bout of despair and self-pity was over, Diana mopped her face and straightened her shoulders. Oddly, she felt better, but the improvement did not last. Before long, her vexation returned. What would she find in Denver?
    She closed her eyes, attempting to put worry about her mother aside long enough to think calmly about the practicalities of journey that would occupy the next few days. Ben's face swam into the darkness behind her eyelids, his expression conveying both hurt and reproach.
    She sought diversion in the passing scenery next, but the view from her compartment was not sufficient distraction to keep her from worrying about Ben's reaction to her telegram. Finally Diana resorted to giving herself a pithy lecture comprised of trite but true sayings.
    "No sense crying over spilt milk," she muttered. It would be best if she tried not to think about Ben at all.
    She retrieved The Journalist from her tweed bag and forced herself to concentrate on reading an article chosen at random. 
    Diana's train was halfway to its first stop, at Rochester, before she turned in desperation to her only other choice of reading matter and discovered that her cantankerous, treacherous, sneaky editor had been even more generous than she'd realized. Tucked between the pale pink pages of The National Police Gazette , next to a story about a young woman's disconcerting experience in a dining car on the New York to Baltimore line, was an envelope with her name on it. It contained a bank draft for a hundred dollars and a letter of introduction to the editor of the Rocky Mountain News .
     

Chapter Two
     
    Ben Northcote felt the pulse in his neck throb, a sure sign he was about to lose his temper. "Mother," he warned, "you are treading on thin ice."
    "I only want what's best for you, dear heart." Maggie Northcote regarded him with annoying calmness from the far side of the front parlor of their Bangor, Maine home.
    Although she was past fifty, she looked at least a dozen years younger and had a heart and mind so unique Ben despaired of ever predicting what she would do or say next. He'd expected her to be as concerned as he was about Diana. Instead she seemed bent on turning him against the woman he loved.
    Posed like a queen on her favorite rococo sofa, the elaborate scroll work on the back framing her like a throne, she stroked the long-haired black cat on her lap. An enormous jade ring reflected light from the chandelier overhead with each sweep of her hand. 
    "Any woman who'd send you a telegram like that one doesn't deserve to marry you. Look at you, all worried and upset."
    His hand clenched on the crumpled ball in his pocket. He